


the one who loves you

by butterscotchlatte



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Vil/random people, and I don't feel Gross haha, au where nrc is a university so everyone's a lil older, basically Vil likes to party, or does he!!!, usual rules apply re
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:00:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterscotchlatte/pseuds/butterscotchlatte
Summary: Vil supposed Rook deserved this opportunity, had earned access to his body after years of devoted service. What was another fling?
Relationships: Rook Hunt/Vil Schoenheit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	the one who loves you

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of [these silly tweets I made](https://twitter.com/maple_Iatte/status/1359746479561207809) lol! thank you so much to the super kind and lovely [ankhespaten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ankhespaten/) for encouraging me to write it!

Vil ran a hand over his face in vain, as though it would do anything at all to correct his dishevelled appearance. Mascara clung to damp eyelashes in clumps and smeared his cheeks faintly, the barest hint of colour remaining on carelessly bitten lips. The way his foundation had all but melted away made him cringe too, unsightly redness and texture seeming all at once so apparent under the harsh light of a stranger's bathroom. He had to leave. He didn't want to spend the night here; he needed his own shower and his own products and the comfort of his own bed in the morning.

After hastily pulling a cleansing wipe from his bag and dabbing at the worst of the damage on his face, he dressed quickly and took his leave. Whatever-His-Name-Was was already fast asleep, it seemed, mercifully freeing Vil from any need for an awkward farewell. He may have clouded the freezing night air with a sigh of relief once his taxi arrived, but he'd had fun. Really. He'd been given countless free drinks, he'd been touched and called beautiful. He was grateful. He had no need - no _ right _ \- to expect anything more. And if he left unsatisfied, with desire still burning insistently in the pit of his stomach, then he would simply ignore it as he always did.

***

Despite the late hour, Vil didn't bother being overly quiet as he entered the dorm and fell unceremoniously onto his bed; Rook was sure to still be awake and doing god knows what in the adjacent room. He would likely come in to greet him soon, and until that point Vil would try to gather his thoughts in silence. After his journey home he felt completely, startlingly sober, and began mentally editing down his nightly skincare routine into a manageable list of a few crucial steps that he still had the energy for.

Sure enough, the soft creak of a door and the familiar sound of Rook's almost silent footsteps soon signalled his presence in Vil's quarters.  
"Welcome home, Vil," he greeted cheerily, "You look like you had quite a night..."  
His tone was playful as ever, but when their eyes met, Vil thought he caught a glimpse of an expression he couldn't place. Within a split second, however, that bright smile had returned, and Vil quickly remembered how awful he looked. He sat up straight and averted his gaze before speaking.  
"Yes, well... best not to look at me at all until tomorrow." he murmured, "I must work at formulating a far better setting spray."  
He finished with a weak chuckle that was - unusually - met with absolute silence from Rook.

"I think you look lovely." He responded quite seriously a moment later, taking Vil by surprise. Rook had always showered him with praise, of course, but there was something uncharacteristic about the subdued compliment. He was usually honest to a fault, but this had to be a lie.

"You couldn't possibly think that right now, Rook." Vil replied with a huff, already feeling the beginnings of the headache he hadn't anticipated so soon and quite honestly in no mood for humouring his friend's cryptic eccentricities. Beyond his lack of makeup, his hair was falling haphazardly out of its pins, his clothes creased in such an unforgivably sloppy way. He realised he probably smelt of alcohol and some stranger's cologne, another twinge of embarrassment hitting as it occurred to him how easily Rook of all people would pick up on that. He needed to be alone.  
"Now go back to your own room and let me get some rest, won't you?"

For once, Rook made no attempt to obey. Instead, he crossed the floor and perched at the edge of the large bed, an arm's length from where Vil sat with his legs tucked beneath him. Vil was used to his vice dorm leader's disregard for personal space, but disregard for his own direct orders? That was something new. Before he had time to object, Rook continued.  
"It is the truth,  _Roi du Poison_. Your beauty is unconditional. Yet, I can't help but be saddened by this side of you, too."

Vil's patience was wearing thin; he didn't understand what Rook was getting at. Rook had seen him like this before - tired and unkempt at the end of a Saturday night spent with a nameless companion - but they'd never once spoken about it. Vil would come home, he would dutifully check in on him as was their routine, and they would both fall asleep in their respective quarters. No questions, no conversations,  _no cruel lies of 'unconditional beauty' when Vil was clearly at his most hideous._

"Rook, I have no idea what you're talking about. Now if you'll-"  
He meant to finally order Rook from his room, but was abruptly silenced by the feeling of a gentle hand at his collar, pushing it aside to reveal a dark bruise blooming at the base of his neck.

"Such artlessness." was all Rook said, exhaling deeply as though in pain.  
Vil should have been appalled; his friend had absolutely no right to touch him like that. He should have slapped his hand away, forced him to leave at once, expelled him from Pomefiore altogether, but he felt frozen. He felt as though that touch alone were anchoring him in place, preventing him from doing anything but staring wide eyed and useless at the man in front of him.

"You hate to have blemishes here." Rook's voice was barely above a whisper now, as solemn and restrained as Vil had ever heard it. Daringly, he caressed the tender skin of the love bite almost in emphasis as he spoke. Vil's heart skipped a beat.  
"They're troublesome to conceal without leaving make up stains on your garments. Did he know that?"  
Of course not, they'd known nothing about each other. Vil had long since come to the bitter realisation that  _no one_ knew anything about him, really.  
No one but Rook.

Met only with a wordless stare, Rook continued on.  
  
"Did he think to hang your beautiful clothes when he undressed you?"  
  
Again, of course not.  
  
"Did he bathe your perfect body in kisses, _worship_ every inch of you as you so deserve?"  
  
Vil felt a lump in his throat, heart standing still once more at the sudden sound of such intimate words.  
  
_Of course not._

Rook leaned in close then, movements slow and measured so as to give plenty of warning. The hand not still resting lightly on Vil's neck came to tilt his sharp jaw upwards slightly, and he stared directly into lilac eyes in an unspoken signal of what he was about to do. He was knowingly granting Vil a chance to pull back, but as though a spell had been placed on him, somehow he still couldn't find that conviction.

"Did he please you, Vil?" Rook murmured. He knew the answer already, and perhaps it was for that reason that he didn't wait for a response before pressing their lips together at last.

As they kissed, Vil tried to mull over what he knew was about to happen as logically as possible. He didn't say it out loud often, but Rook had always been good to him. He was always present and loyal and kind, so Vil supposed he deserved this opportunity, had earned access to his body after years of devoted service. What was another fling?

As usual it would be purely transactional, of course, which made it all the more difficult to explain away the cold, longing ache he felt lodged in his chest as Rook kissed him so softly. Perhaps it was exhaustion playing tricks on his mind, but in that moment he almost felt cherished, like someone held in higher regard than just a close friend.

It was the best kiss he had ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post this story as like a one shot but I thought I'd post the lead up first bc it's been taking me a lot longer than expected to write the s*x haha 😭😭 currently have something that's about 1% descriptions of sexual acts and 99% endearments, which I am trying to correct.,..


End file.
